


Still Waters

by CinderScoria



Category: Zombies Run!
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, SPOIIIIIILERS, SPOILEEEEEEERS, SPOILERS for season three episode 47
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-17
Updated: 2015-08-23
Packaged: 2018-04-09 17:53:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4358627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CinderScoria/pseuds/CinderScoria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five has collapsed, and nobody knows why.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My current project, and my first foray into second person in this fandom. Kind of fond of it!

You’re very, very strong.

Nobody needs to tell you this. You know it. You know you’ve handled way more shit someone like you is supposed to handle. You know you’re tired every day, and that you barely think beyond completely today’s mission and eating and sleeping and trying not to fall apart. So while you don’t ever feel strong, you at least go to bed every night knowing that you are valued. That’s enough most days.

But you’ve got a threshold. Thresholds have a cap. And even desperation-fueled adrenaline runs out eventually.

_“Five!”_

You jolt awake, and there’s something wrong. Extremely wrong. You can’t see. You can’t move. There’s a very distinct smell of blood and carnage in the air–usually you can block that out, as it’s been the norm for the last few years after everybody turned into zombies, but this is different. It’s right up against your face. You inhale it and immediately want to be sick, but you can’t even open you eyes to see what it is, let alone push yourself as far away from it as possible. Everything feels like cement and you have an extreme urge to move. Nothing’s working. There’s a strange buzzing in your ears and you want to breathe ragged and in total terror, but the air comes slowly and deeply and it’s almost as if you’re asleep. Asleep and panicking.

Someone grabs your shoulder and everything gets really, really loud.

_“Five! Oh my god! Jody, what’s wrong? What happened?”_

“I don’t know!” Jody’s voice is shriller than normal, and she grips you really tight and you want to moan to let her know it fucking hurts, but you may as well be a ragdoll. “Five just collapsed!”

_“They didn’t shoot–is Five hit? The Dedlocks–”_

“There’s no blood, Sam,” she says, pulling you up and checking your pulse. “Heart rate is steady, breathing’s deep. Sam, I… I think Five’s asleep.”

 _“What?”_  Sam sounds about as confused as you are, except not nearly for the same reason. You’re listening, you can hear this, and you know for a fact that you’re not asleep. You’re trapped. Whatever the hell this is, it’s bad. There are Dedlocks closing in on your position, and Jody can’t carry you all the way back to Abel, especially with the homicidal psychopaths on her tail.

Sam comes to the same conclusion.  _“All right, I’m sending you some reinforcements. Simon and Amelia went around with the package but I might get Simon to get back and help you out?”_

“Lovely,” Jody mutters. “Don’t you worry, Five. We’ll get you out of here and back to Abel.”

They do, and you don’t wake up once. You hear Maxine and it worries you that they took her out of stasis just to figure out what’s wrong with you. They say it’s an emergency, and okay, you know you’re needed at Abel, but not at the expense of anyone else. Hell, Simon and Amelia are the only ones by your side as Maxine bustles about your bed, muttering to herself under her breath. She sounds tired. You’re tired.

Sam bursts through the door. “What the hell is wrong with my runner?”

“I don’t know,” Maxine says tersely. “Paula?”

“I’m sorry, sweetie,” the other doctor replies, counting your pulse with two fingers on your wrist. “Pupils are reacting fine, pulse is normal… I have to agree with Jody. Five’s asleep, it’s just… it’s almost like a coma.”

“But Five will wake up, right?” Sam sounds unnaturally angry. You can’t tell where he’s directing it towards.

You’ve given up on trying to move, that awful feeling of helplessness and burdening. Your whole life is spent compensating for your own existence, trying so hard to be worth something useful and helpful and good so that people will want you–and if they don’t want you, then at least they need you. But now you’re limp and being lugged around and you almost cost Jody her life if Simon hadn’t come along and saved the both of you. And now people are wasting time trying to figure out what’s wrong with you instead of figuring out what next thing Moonchild has planned.

“Maybe something happened when Five touched that box?” Sam ventures.

“No,” says Amelia, and maybe it’s your imagination but there’s an odd shift in her voice that implies she’s actually worried about you. “I haven’t been affected, and neither has Janine when I passed it off to her. Whatever Moonchild has stashed in there, it didn’t do this to Five.”

“Then what’s  _wrong–”_

“I don’t know, Sam,” Maxine snaps, and everyone stops and stares for a second.

You really want to sit up and tell them you’re fine. You feel fine. You just can’t move. That isn’t fine. But if you don’t think about it too much, then you don’t panic without actually panicking. And that’s easier to wrap your head around.

The silence is broken by Janine’s arrival. Everyone all but snaps to attention. Janine has that effect on people.

“Talk to me,” is all she says, and Maxine sighs.

“By all rights and purposes, Five is in perfect health,” she admits. “No bites or lacerations–no new lacerations anyway–and there’s no sickness present. Our best guess is a coma.”

“Caused by what, exactly?”

There’s a pregnant, awkward pause in response. Janine breaks it. “All right. Amelia, Simon–we are attempting to open the package Five received from Moonchild. You’re welcome to help. Otherwise, there’s no reason to stay.”

Her voice has ice in it, and Simon counters with heat. “No one gives a fuck about the box, Janine.”

You start in surprise. You don’t move, but you start. Simon doesn’t often sound so pissed. He laughs when he’s angry. He isn’t laughing now.

Janine says quietly, “I don’t know what you are suggesting, Simon, but–”

“I’m suggesting that you grow a bloody heart,” he growls. “Five is comatose, dying for all we know, and–”

“Oh,” Sam interrupts, all sarcasm, “because you’ve suddenly learned how to start caring about people other than yourself.”

“Sam,” Maxine says, appalled, but Simon talks over her.

“We all know about your disturbing obsession with Five, Sam,” he snarls, “but you’re going to have to share at some point–”

“What? It’s not an–you have no room to talk about what is and isn’t disturbing!”

_“Enough!”_

It comes from both Janine and Amelia, reeling their boys in, the forcefulness of the shout echoing off the walls. You slump in relief–or you try to. The door opens and then slams–Simon’s gone. You can tell by the smell. You’re not sure if that’s a good thing or not. You’re still trying to figure out just what the hell happened.

“Sit down, Mr. Yao,” says Janine. Her voice is uncharacteristically soft.

“Five will make it,” he says, with a lot more conviction than you have yourself. “Five will get through this. Five will wake up.”

“Sam.”

“I know this,” he tells Paula, and he’s so sure. “I know Five better than anyone. This is nothing. I know it. Five will wake up.”

“I’ll be back later,” Janine offers, presumably to Maxine and Paula as Sam obviously isn’t paying attention. “Will you–”

“I don’t know,” Maxine says. “I don’t know if I’ll go back. Five is my friend too. I have… I have to help.”

“I’ll make sure she’s safe,” Paula murmurs to Janine. “You should go find Simon.”

“I’ll do it.” It’s Amelia. You forgot she’s still here. You wonder more why she’s going to bother with Simon. They gave off the impression that they hated each other. But Amelia’s voice is rather quiet, too, and when she closes the door it’s gently and without a shred of superiority. You don’t know Amelia that well, but that doesn’t seem to be very in character.

What the hell is happening all around you?

There’s a hand encircling yours. “You will be fine,” Sam whispers. You can feel the warmth in his fingers and you want, more than anything, to squeeze back. But you can’t.

“You will be fine,” he repeats, and stays there for the rest of the day.


	2. Chapter 2

You’re very, very frustrated.

Night has fallen, and nothing has changed. Maxine got into an argument with Paula at some point earlier about when to go to bed. Paula’s insisting, “We just got Five back, we can’t let Moonchild get you too.” And Maxine just releases an exhausted, frustrated sob that makes you think that this really isn’t worth it. You can’t move but it’s the first time you’ve rested in what feels like forever. So it’s okay. For you. Just not for anybody else, apparently.

And Sam hasn’t moved in hours. He still grips your hand tightly, choking the life out of it, kneading it between his fingers like the mere touch is going to fix you. And it doesn’t, of course, but it’s nice to know he cares. But he hasn’t eaten anything, and that’s concerning. And he hasn’t really spoken since he told you in no uncertain terms that he’ll never forgive you if you up and die on him. That’s not exactly your intention. Then again, you’re not really thinking much about anything right now.

But the silence is slowing driving you insane. You were hoping this was some kind of weird, unnatural dream and that you’ll wake up in the morning excited to tell Sam about it, but in your heart you know it isn’t. Something is wrong. And half of you doesn’t want to fix it.

Sam shudders, the tremor rippling through his fingertips and into you. “Paula. How’s Maxie?”

The doctor sighs and quietly closes the door. “Arguing. Begging, almost. I really had to twist her arm to get her to go under again. She thinks that if she works hard enough, she can figure out what’s wrong with Five. I’m worried about her Sam. And I’m worried about Five. We… we think it’s a failsafe.”

“From Moonchild.” Sam says it flatly, and that’s how you know he’s pissed. He doesn’t yell often–just has that deadpan, bitter, clipped tone when he gets angry. “You think in case Five was ever rescued, Moonchild would shut down the programming by force. Built in a trigger to keep the information safe.”

“And taking out Five in the process,” Paula finishes for him. “It makes sense. Obviously what’s ailing Five isn’t physical. It has to be a mental thing.”

Sam releases a long, slow breath. “So… how do we fix it?”

“I don’t know.”

You’re getting really tired of hearing that. You feel that insane, panicky urge to move and you scream in your head as you try and fail to lift your head from its pillow. God, Sam is touching you, he’s right there next to you, and he doesn’t even notice. He doesn’t even hear you fall to hysterics in the quiet of your skull.

The attack burns out quickly, but you’re left figuratively trembling and unable to shed any tears. This isn’t restful anymore, and it isn’t even confusing. It’s horrifying. You need to move. You need to be able to move. You need to have people hear you. Never before have you wanted to speak as much as you do now, and you can’t even part your lips enough to get a proper breath in. Your heart clenches but your breathing stays steady and even. You’re pretty sure you’re going to die out of the sheer inability to do a damn thing.

“Five is fine, though, right?” You come back to Sam’s voice, and as always you relax a little when you hear it. He sounds anxious, you think, and you really think he should go and get some sleep or something, not stay here and worry about you.

Paula pauses, and Sam rushes on. “I mean, physically, there’s nothing wrong, right?”

“Sam, there’s a very real chance Five could die from dehydration if we don’t solve this within three days,” she says gently. “We just don’t have the tools to do a feeding tube, and unless Five can swallow automatically…”

And you haven’t been. Even you know this. This time the air Sam lets out is shaky and makes you a little shaky, too. He turns his attention back to you and squeezes your fingers again. You have the dull thought that maybe, with all this gripping, you should be feeling the pain right about now. But you don’t.

“I know you can do this, Five,” he whispers in your ear. “I know you can get through this. You are the strongest person I know. You can beat this. This is mind over matter, yeah? This is how much you want it. And I know you do. You’ve got this. And I’m not going anywhere until you open those eyes of yours. Okay?”

Okay, you think back to him, even though you don’t want him to waste away with you, and you want him to eat something, and you want him to sleep, and you’re worried about how he and Simon had left things, and you’re pretty sure they’re making a much bigger deal than what this warrants. You want to move. But that’s not why you need to wake up.

Sam has to sleep. Maxine has to sleep. Paula has to sleep. You know your friends enough to be sure that they’ll run themselves into the ground trying to help you, and you don’t want that.


	3. Chapter 3

You’re very, very sick.

You can tell it’s the next morning by the sounds of activity going on outside your room. Sam stirs next to you–he’d finally fallen asleep maybe four or so hours ago, you estimate, and it comes as a huge relief to you, even if you can’t really sleep with him.

But it’s a good thing people have started the day, because you’re pretty sure you’re dying. Your gut is on fire, and you feel it travel all the way up your skin, crawling it’s way to your appendages and then to your head. Even if you could scream, it probably wouldn’t do much good–nothing can cool the pain down from a fiery inferno to a low burn.

“Sam,” Maxine says as she opens the door, and he jerks a bit, more fully awake.

“Maxine? Should you be out so soon?”

“Not you too!” You’ve never heard her so irritated, and at Sam, too. “I’m a grown woman, Sam, I can take care of myself. Let me do my job, okay?”

“Okay,” he responds, taken aback.

A hand made of ice presses to your forehead, and Maxine sucks in a breath. “Oh, Five, you’re burning up,” she murmurs.

Relief floods through you. There’s some communication, there’s some acknowledgment that you were heard. Sam goes back to squeezing your hand, your own personal lifeline, as Maxine leaves to bustle around her clinic.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Maxine mutters to herself as she flips through some papers.

She starts to go on but you’re slammed with pain. Nausea hits you hard and fast, a dizzying effect when you can’t even open your eyes, and finally– _finally–_ your breath quickens. It’s quick, shallow, and uneven, and your heart starts to pound wildly in your chest.

“Maxine!” Sam shouts, and she races back over to you as you gasp through the shock, eyes squeezed shut. It hurts more than anything you’ve ever experienced, but that doesn’t matter–you’re  _moving,_  you’re shifting and clawing at the sheets beneath you and if you could just open your eyes–

You slump back and the moment’s gone, but Maxine is pressing two fingers to your wrist and then to your throat, holding them there for an uncomfortably long time.

“Oh God,” she says.

“What?” Sam doesn’t let go of your hand but you feel him stand and lean over towards the doctor. “You said Five was burning up, but…”

“Not anymore,” Maxine says. “Such a rapid drop in temperature, and blood pressure dropping fast, I think–”

You start to shake, and not the normal trembles that accompany a cold day or a long, hard run. You think you might be seizing, but no–Maxine exclaims, “Five is going into shock. Help me!”

Sam shouts, “Paula!” and she comes running, must’ve already been on her way in here, and you can hear her slide into place.

“Shock,” Maxine says tersely, and they work as one unit. Paula lifts your feet and sets them on a pillow, murmuring to Sam, “Talk to Five. We’re here, we’ve got you, that sort of thing.”

Sam doesn’t need to be told twice. He presses your hand to his forehead, trying to keep his voice calm and even. He fails a little. “Five. I don’t know if you can hear me, but you’re going to be okay. I know I keep saying that, but believe me, I know my runners. How many times have you made it out of hairy situations, eh? Didn’t even need my help most of the time.”

He keeps talking as someone lays a blanket over you, and then another, and then another. You’re still freezing but the tremors start to ebb. Your head pounds a little less, and the fire in your chest and abdomen has cooled.

“Five needs to drink,” Maxine says.

Nobody moves for a minute. Then Paula says, “Sam, go get some rest, or something to eat, or something.”

Sam says, “No.” almost before she finishes speaking. Maxine snaps, “Stop being ridiculous, Sam. You’re no good to anyone like this. Janine’s going to put you back on active duty sooner or later, and you have to be aware enough to do your job.”

Paula’s voice is far more gentle. “Do you honestly think Five would want you to starve yourself, Sam?”

There’s a long moment where nobody says anything. Then Sam sighs. “I’m just going to get something to eat,” he says, in a tone that dares either of them to argue. “Then I’m coming right back.”

“Okay.”

He loosens his grip on your hand and it feels so wrong you want to whine a little. But Paula’s right–he needs to take care of himself. If you could move you’d kick his ass yourself, but you’re glad Maxine and Paula can do it for you.

The door closes and you hear someone–Maxine–slump into a chair. She’s crying.

“Oh, darling,” says Paula, unable to come up with anything else.

“I just want to be able to do more,” Maxine mumbles. “God, I just want–I want to be able to set up an IV with fluids and antibiotics and I want a surgical team and I want x-rays and… and just–”

“You’re doing the best you can,” Paula soothes.

“No,” Maxine argues. “No, the best I can is being out here, twenty-four seven, figuring out a way to keep Five alive.”

“Maxie–”

“What would Sam say, Paula? How could he even look at me again if I let Five die?”

You don’t want to be here. You feel like you’re intruding on something private. It’s not as if you’ve never heard Maxine cry. It’s just strange that it’s over you. You’re not dead yet. And it isn’t like Maxine to give up this easily.

“Darling, listen to me.” Maxine sniffles but stays quiet so Paula can have her say. “Oh, Maxie, can’t you see how good you are? How you’re pushing yourself to fix a problem you have no control over? If Five dies… if Five dies, it won’t be for lack of trying on your part, I promise you. We all can see that.”

“Sam–”

“Understands. I promise you he does. Or he will.” Paula kisses her, and now it’s getting really awkward.

“I just…” Maxine says through a shaky breath once they part, “… how am I supposed to know I did my best if I have to go back in that damn pod every night?”

“Maxine,” Paula says, “I’m going to tell you something you have to believe with all your heart. Okay?  _It’s okay if you can’t do it._  You have limits. You do. And they aren’t to the extent of you dying trying to fix Five. Do you understand? You need… you need to be okay with Five dying. I need you to be okay with Five dying.”

Maxine sucks in a breath.  _“Paula–”_

“Because it’s a very real possibility,” the other woman continues, voice cracking, and it’s not as if you and her aren’t close or even just friends by association, you know she cares about you and you care about her. “And you need to know that should it happen you did everything you could, with what limited supplies you have, and what knowledge you posses. Neither of us know how to do a tracheotomy. Even if the seizures stop, or the shock goes away, Five will die without water. You know this.”

They’re both crying now, and you feel very strange. You aren’t dead. You aren’t. But it kind of feels like you are. You might as well be. Because it’s not as if they’re giving up. They’re just… preparing. Grieving.

Oh God. They’re grieving. They’re grieving over you.

The tremors stop, and you’re back to being still. But the words fly around your head in dizzying patterns, insisting “you’re  dying, you’re dying, you will be missed” in a dull, low buzz.

You don’t want to think about this. You want to wake up. You want to move. You want to make sure your friends–your friends–never have to experience this grief ever again. And definitely not over somebody like you. But now, at this moment, you’re starting to doubt it’s really up to you.


	4. Chapter 4

You’re very, very pissed.

There’s a lot of shouting going on right above your head, and you’re starting to get a serious metaphorical headache. Even if it doesn’t feel metaphorical.

It started with Simon as the man tried to approach Sam, Maxine and Paula five minutes earlier. He came claiming boredom, uninterested with the tech talk Amelia and Janine have lost themselves in. Sam snapped at him. He snapped back. Now they’re arguing and Maxine and Paula are shouting over each other in an attempt to calm everyone down.

Sam, however grateful he is to Simon for saving you from Moonchild’s mind control, still feels the sting of betrayal and holds onto it like he’s clinging to your hand right now. And Simon, well. You have a soft spot for him. He laughs too much and has issues admitting fault and has his head is stuck so far up his ass he forgets he actually has people caring about him, but you still consider him a friend. So these two flinging insult after insult at each other pisses you off. It pisses you off so much your fingers twitch and curl and try to grab at the sheets they’re lying on.

And Maxine is the only one who notices. “Guys!” she yells. “Guys! You’re upsetting Five! Shut  _up!”_

They do, and the noise rings into the silence for a second. You try to hold it, but now that the headache has eased your body eases too. You slump back in total frustration, ready to scream, and the room lets out a collective breath of disappointment.

“You see what you did,” Sam growls quietly.

Simon huffs. “My fault. Of course! When isn’t it?“

"God,  _please_  don’t start,” Maxine snaps. “This is the saddest display of human behavior I have ever seen. I expected this from you, Simon, but Sam? What the hell is going on with you?”

“Cold, Maxie,” Simon mutters

Sam snarls a bit under his breath. “There is no bloody reason–”

“Contrary to popular belief, Yao, you are not the only one hurting here!” Simon’s voice is sharp and caustic. He’s not even trying anymore. “You’re going to have to share Five at some point, you know. And it’s not just for me, either. This entire town owes Five–this entire planet, frankly–and if you honestly think you’re the only one who cares you’re even more dense than I thought.”

“You have no right–”

“I have every right!” Simon shouts.

They’re both fucking idiots. They’re both idiotic fucking morons. Soon as you wake up you’re going to strangle the both of them.

“And especially me!” Simon continues. “Especially because Five  _knows_  how hard I’ve tried to just finally get some  _rest,_  escape this bleedin’ nightmare just to fucking  _sleep._  You hear me now, Five? You know how much I wanted this! And you touch a fuckin’–you pick up a box and it’s practically handed to you on a silver platter and–”

“Five is  _not dying!”_  Sam roars.

You’ve never heard him scream so loud. You have never heard his voice crack like that, the hoarseness rip through his throat like it’s made of sandpaper. This entire time you’ve been telling yourself you’ll wake up, that you’ll survive, halfheartedly and just for the sake of hope. But suddenly, when Sam says it, you believe it. You want to.

“You’re not going to get very far with that mindset, mate.” And Simon doesn’t sound angry anymore, just tired and a little lost.

The door opens. You’re getting quite used to that sound by now. Amelia click clacks in–you’re pretty sure she’s one of the only people who goes around in heels when she isn’t running from Zombies.

“Simon, stand down,” she says.

“I am not a soldier, Amelia,” he says sourly, and now you know he’s feeling poorly because Amelia is always Amy to him, no matter how much she hates it.

“I don’t care,” is her response. As usual, she’s clipped and short, but harbors none of her strange sense of humor in her tone. “This is neither the time nor place. These people don’t want you here.”

Sam, for once, keeps his mouth shut. And Simon releases a hurt breath.

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, all right. Didn’t want to come back to this bloody hellhole anyway.”

He stalks out, practically slammed the door behind him.

“Good riddance,” says Sam, but the heat’s gone.

“You really are selfish, Sam Yao,” Amelia tells him, very matter-of-fact. “Runner Five is important to all of us. We might not have had as deep a connection as you, but Five has helped us all in one way or another. We will all mourn if Five dies.”

Sam doesn’t respond. The door opens and shuts again, and someone–Maxine, you think–exhales slowly.

“You going to tell me I’m hogging Five to myself as well?” Sam asks, caustic.

“Sounds to me like you’ve gotten the message,” Maxine replies.

“Five isn’t dying,” he insists. “I would know.”

“Okay Sam,” Paula says gently. “I believe you.”

“Good.” He lessens the tightness of his grip on your hand, but he doesn’t let go. “Good. Because I’m not letting you go without a fight.”

He whispers this last bit to you, and you have no doubt he means it both figuratively and literally.

And for once in your life, you have no intention of dying. For once you want to live so you can wake up and slap your boys silly, and hug Maxine something fierce, and find a way to stop Moonchild and pay her back for all the shit she put you through.

Because you’re angry now. And anger spurs from hope.


	5. Chapter 5

You’re very, very tired.

You are so… tired.

The second day is winding to a close, and you haven’t technically slept that entire time. But this isn’t the tired that accompanies sleep deprivation. People have come and gone, asking Maxine and Paula questions, offering support to Sam, and touching your hand, or your cheek, or the top of your head to let you know that they’re there and they’re rooting for you. And it’s weird, on one hand, but kind of nice at least to know that you mean so much to people who should probably be furious with you right now. Three days since you were you again, and you knew people wouldn’t have that short of a memory but you didn’t expect them to push that aside in favor of you waking up.

This exhaustion has nothing to do with the effort of forcing your body to move. More like the years and years of strife and suffering you’ve had to get used to, and the people you’ve lost, and the people you might still lose, and the end of all things, and how hope is poisonous sometimes, and how you need to world to stop for a second so you can figure out where to go from here. It’s been two days and that’s all you can think, that’s what consumes the better part of your consciousness, and you’re tired of being tired too.

Sam has finally fallen asleep. You suspect the girlfriends have as well, probably together seeing as they haven’t argued about Maxine going back under yet. That’s mildly concerning, but you’re having a hard time caring about anything right now. Besides, they deserve some semblance of happiness. Everybody does.

The door opens, very quietly, and someone walks in. The three don’t stir but you hear the footsteps come closer, stop until it’s on the other side of your bed, the opposite of Sam. There’s a cool hand brushing your forehead, and then a sigh that sounds a lot like Janine.

“I’m afraid I might have taken you for granted,” she begins, whispering, attempting to maintain her composed demeanor. “And that I never let you know just how valuable of an asset you are to this settlement. No, to me.” She repeats quietly, “To me,” like she has to remind herself you’re the only one who can hear her be this vulnerable.

“This is not a goodbye,” she continues. “Because I do believe we can save you. Even if we can’t cure this… ailment, if we can figure out a way to sustain your life, we will. The thing is, Five, I’m not entirely sure that’s what you want.

“We’ve known each other for a long time. And I know we did not get off on the best foot, but I’ve come to consider you a close ally. Even a friend.” She laughs a little bit. “I don’t believe I ever told you, come to think of it. It occurs to me now that I’ve given you no reason to believe I respect you in any way, never mind call you friend.”

She’s wrong about that. You remember the exact second you’d earned her trust, and that goes a long way with Janine. You disagree about a lot of things, and never directly communicate most of the time, but Janine’s a friend to you, too. You just figured it wasn’t one of those things that needed to be said aloud.

Janine sighs again. “I hope you know that we didn’t rest the entire time you were missing. Certainly not Mr. Yao, of course. But I too lost sleep over your safety and sanity being twisted by that monster. And we don’t blame you. Understand? We don’t blame you. Just–oh, I don’t know how to do this… listen, Five. My point is, I like to think I know you better than you think I do. And I have noticed your recklessness and quite frankly alarming lack of self preservation when out in the field. And I have read the file Mullins has on you. I know you’ve been suicidal for a long time. So, I suppose my question is… do you want us to keep you alive?“

She lets the silence hang for a long moment. You try not to think about the things that happened before the apocalypse. Your past is one you’ve tried to forget since it started. Easier to bury memories if you pretended they didn’t exist. But your suicidal tendencies isn’t something you can leave behind with your old name. It’s followed you. You’ve stayed alive for years, even found reasons why you wanted to, but they haven’t been buried. You’re pretty sure they never will be.

"I don’t know what to do,” Janine admits. Her voice is tight and shakes a little. “I hate that. I have purposefully taken action to distance myself from runners–from everyone–for this exact reason. I thought I was better than this. But I can’t sleep, I can’t eat, I can barely think past my own self pity and hatred and even then it’s just to mourn. Time is running out, Five. I need to know. I… I want to know. I don’t want to do something you don’t want me to do.”

It turns more into a question by the end of the sentence. You want to console her, tell her you wouldn’t know what to do if the positions were reversed, that she’s doing a good job. But when have words ever worked for you? You don’t say much to begin with. It’s startling to think that your need to wake is purely stemming from a desire to make everyone happy. The thought makes you sick, even when it shouldn’t. But she wants to make people happy. That’s what she told you. She can make you happy.

You’re not sure where happiness will come from. Since you’ve arrived at Abel you’ve found something similar, something that replaced the desolation that your mind had become. You were filled with feelings, thoughts and opinions and love for your friends and sometimes more, fear and desperation and everything that filled up what used to be a hollow cavern, deserted of all hope. You don’t want to lose that.

But you’re tired.

Sam stirs, and that’s enough of that. “J'nine?” he mumbles.

“Have a nice nap, Mr. Yao?” She’s back to her usual detached, almost angry tone. It immediately puts Sam on the defensive.

“I’m not leaving until Five wakes up,” he growls.

Janine just sighs. “I wasn’t going to ask you to, Sam.”

Sam doesn’t say anything for a full ten seconds; he’s as shocked as you are at the use of his first name.

“We’ve opened the box,” she continues. “Simon and Amelia are on their way with it. Up and at ‘em, Doctors Myers and Cohen. We’ve got one last thing to try.”

“You’ve opened it?” Sam demands, finally finding his voice, and the room comes alive with the sounds of shifting and groaning and pained exhales.

“Do not ever let me sleep in an office chair again,” Maxine complains. “What’s all the ruckus about?”

“Janine?” Paula prompts.

The door opens again and in rush the other two, and with that the gang is complete. You feel something stirring in your gut. Anxiety, maybe. Something that isn’t quite hope, but isn’t quite despair either.

“It was one of those trick boxes,” Janine explains, before the animosity between Simon and Sam can heat up again. “Amelia, as it turns out, is surprisingly skilled in the like.”

“Don’t pretend you had nothing to do with it, Janine,” says Amelia. “You’re the one who figured out we were going about it the wrong way.”

“So?” Sam bounces impatiently at your side. If your lips twitch into a smile, he doesn’t notice. “What’s in it?”

“Two things,” Amelia says. “A letter and a poem.”

“We thought reading them aloud would trigger something,” Janine continues. “And since Simon was feeling left out–”

“Excuse me–”

“–we’re going to let him read them to Five and see what happens.”

There a soft noise of surprise from Simon that kind of warms your heart a bit. What a bullheaded moron. He’s got lower self esteem than you do, and that’s saying something.

“All right,” he says, clearing his throat. “Okay. Um, we’ll do the letter first. From Moonchild, of course. It goes,

_Five._

_Losing you is the hardest thing I’ve ever been through. I need you to know that._

_I just love you a lot, you know? I feel like we’ve known each other our whole lives. I’ve felt a connection with you I haven’t felt with anyone. I can see in you what I saw in my father; but you, Five, you have the strength to fight it. The things you’ve told me, about Abel, about Sam… I thought I could give you the same feeling, and more, and I realize now that I couldn’t maintain it like they can._

_So here it is, my last gift to you. It works out in the end, you know. You will have your peace at long last and I will do my best to bring it to everyone else. I know you requested this, Five, and I know I promised, but… I’m going to miss you. I’m going to miss our talks. I’m going to miss your smile–that one only reserved for me. So what I’m saying is, take care of yourself in whatever world you find yourself in next, okay? I love you. I am with you always._

_Moonchild_

_PS. I found that poem you told me you sang in choir–the sweet music one? I’ve included it. Just a present for you.”_

And the silence is  _deafening._

Simon stuttered on a few parts. The disbelief saturates the atmosphere as everyone struggles to find something to say. You’re confused, and horrified, and terrified, and disgusted, and tired. You don’t remember what all you told her, but there’ve been secrets you never shared with anyone–and little things, like that song you sang in choir, something that’s so small and means nothing but the fact that she has that thing from your old life, even something as insignificant as that, is sickening.

And Simon is stuck on something entirely different. "Five wanted this.”

“No,” Sam says, but his grip doesn’t tighten on your hand again.

“Yes,” Simon says with a harsh chuckle. “Oh, yes, this was Five’s plan all along.”

“Moonchild brainwashed–” Maxine started to say, but Simon spoke over her.

“Yes, but it was still  _Five,_  wasn’t it?” It came out as a shout, very hoarse, ripped through with something very akin to anguish, something you haven’t heard from him in a while. Not even a few days before, when he was slowly guiding, practically begging, you back to Abel.

“Five’s idea,” he went on, and you hear him pacing away from you. “Five’s contingency plan. Five’s request.”

“No,” Sam moans.

“Simon.” Janine cuts through the rapidly escalating din and stops Simon just as the knob is turning on the door. “Read the poem, Simon.”

Simon lets out a harsh breath. A really harsh breath. And another, and another after that. And you can just feel the waves of self destruction radiating off of him. You know if he takes another step out of their line of sight, he’s going to disappear–to try to kill himself again, to shred his skin and his new face and hand, to go violently destroy some zombies or let them destroy him… it doesn’t matter. If he leaves he's not coming back. Janine can see it too. She brings him back down to Earth–not completely, not by a long shot. But he stays.

There’s the sound of paper unfolding, just over one of the doctors–or maybe both, you can’t tell–choking back a gasping sob that makes the room seem smaller than it does even with your eyes closed.

 _“There is sweet music here,”_  Simon begins, but his voice is too thick to go on. He swallows and breathes and starts over.

_“There is sweet music here that softer falls_  
_Than petals from blown roses on the grass_  
_Or night dews on still waters between walls_  
_Of shadowy granite, in a gleaming pass;_  
_Music that gentlier on the spirit lies,_  
_Than eyelids upon tired eyes_  
_Music that brings sweet sleep down from the blissful skies._  
_Here are cool mosses deep,_  
_And through the moss the ivies creep_  
_And in the stream the long-leaved flowers weep  
_ _And from the craggy ledge the poppies hang in sleep.”_

You sing along in your head. The song always calmed you in a way nothing else really ever could. Once, before the apocalypse, you’d looked up all the different compositions of it on Youtube. They were all beautiful, but yours will always be the one your choir teacher composed himself. It made the sleep part of it all too real for you.

Because you’re tired. Just, very tired. And you should maybe be in some physical pain, and you should be hungry and thirsty, but you aren’t. You’re just heavy. Emotionally, too.

Simon trails off, stating flatly, “There’s nothing else here. Just a line that says, _"Give us long rest or death, dark death, or dreamful ease.”_

Maxine cries. Paula cries. Sam is shaking. Simon leaves. Amelia follows. And Janine puts a hand on the top of your head, brushing her fingertips across your forehead, before tucking the two pieces of paper under your free hand.

“I suppose I have my answer, don’t I?” she murmurs. She’s calm on the outside. But you’re worried. You’re worried about her. You’re worried this is out of your hands. You’re worried this was your choice. You’re worried that you’re going to die.

She leaves, and the three of them break down together. Sam is still denying the words on the papers, insisting that Moonchild is lying, that all she does is lie, and no one argues with him. You don’t think they have the energy. You certainly don’t.

You want things to be okay, but to be honest, at this point, your okay is starting to look way different than theirs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem is called Song of the Lotos-Eaters, by Alfred Lord Tennyson. It's too long to include it all here, but believe me when I say it's worth reading. :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should've mentioned earlier--this Runner Five isn't supposed to be my Runner Five, Jade. That's why I wrote them in second POV. I'm afraid I didn't specify that earlier lol.
> 
> We're almost done! Almost there. Thanks for all y'all who've stuck with me! I'm glad you guys enjoy this. 
> 
> The epilogue will be right up. Enjoy!

You're very, very weak.

Nobody needs to tell you this. You know it. You know your body has taken way too harsh a blow to recover, never mind your mental stability. You’ve been drifting, in and out, blurring through images and memories and voices. You hear Sara, but you can’t make out the words. Her voice is comforting though. Strange, you never thought you’d think that. She always sounded so matter of fact, even--maybe especially--talking about death and all that came with it.

Moonchild’s there too. You’re glad you can’t hear the words she says.

But when you’re back, your fingers don’t physically curl in but you can feel yourself hanging on anyway. Time is running out. You don’t want to leave, but you don’t want to stay. You don’t want to stay. You don’t want to stay.

Sam. Sam is hurting himself because of you. He isn’t eating, he’s barely sleeping. Has he gotten water? He hasn't spoken much. You're worried about him. Just because you’re dying doesn’t mean he should too. He's always thought the opposite though, every time he loses one. Used to tell you, "'Each' is my least favorite word," all despondent like and unsure of himself. You know he'd trade places with you in a heartbeat, without a second thought to the other runners who need him and the rest of the crew in their odd circle of friends who want him and to you, of course, because he's so damn selfish and so damn sweet. He's going to be so, so angry with you, for not being enough, for him not being enough, for you not staying simply because he asked you to. He'll be so ashamed of himself for repeating again and again that he knows you, he knows you're strong, he knows you'll survive. He has such faith. You hate having to destroy that.

You're leaving. You realize it suddenly and in vibrant colors. You're leaving him here. Them here. You've known it since you woke up unable to move, but it's time you've said it. It's time you've admitted it. Accepted it.

It's going to hurt them though. You can feel Sam's thumb running sluggishly over your knuckles. You want your lips to form the words.  I love you. I love you. I'm sorry.

"Sam." It's Maxine, and she just sounds so tired. "Sam. C’mon, Yao, up and at ‘em.”

He stirs, and the thumbing stops. There’s a long, quiet second, like everybody forgets to breathe, and then life resumes again. 

“I don’ want…” he mumbles, the words muffled by his sleeve or by a pillow or something soft and quiet. He breathes but it sounds more like a sob, and you really can’t--you really shouldn’t do this, why do you have to do this? “I don’t want to  be here.”

That doesn’t make much sense, but you’ve said that your whole life, so you get it. So does Maxine. “Oh, honey. Sam. I know, but you have to let go sometime. All right?"

"Five won't leave me," he says. He used to sound so  sure.  Now he just sounds sad. "Five would never leave me."

"That's what you said about Alice." And Maxine's voice is gentle but the words may as well be a slap to the face--Sam inhales sharply and Paula hisses, "Maxie!"

"This is going to kill you, Sam," she continues, pleads more like, and you're so heavy. So nice kind of heavy, like you could fall asleep at any second, that strange limbo between eyes open and a darkness that you don't mind swallowing you.

Sam lets the breath go, shaky, slowly and in short jerks through his teeth. He buries his face against your arm and just sort of trembles there. Hot tears soak your sleeve. He’s crying. Sam’s crying.

You drift again, and maybe it’s for the best because he doesn’t deserve this, at all, in any way, shape or form. They don’t, but especially him. Your anchor. The one thing that broke her control. Your Sam Yao. Your radio operator. He’s already lost so much, and you hate to be another thing on that list, and you hate that it hurts him so much, and you hate that you don’t understand why he threw all this love at you when you did nothing to deserve it. Especially now, only a week after you’d tried to kill him, and he’s lying at your side now shuddering and sobbing and the world is incredibly unfair and this is so, so wrong and there’s nothing you can do about it.

You don’t want to stay but you don’t want to leave. You don’t want to leave. You don’t want to leave.

Maxine and Paula fought and fought until Paula finally broke. She hasn’t cried the three days you’ve been still, and you know from experience that being strong nonstop never lasts. It’s something trivial, like sleep, or food, or a last ditch effort to save you, and then Paula just shouts, “It doesn’t matter! Five is  dying,  Maxie! Accept it!”

Sam, you notice, doesn’t even react, but the words are very loud and they echo in both the room and your head. Maxine sucks in a breath, probably ready to unleash a fresh batch of cruel insults and frustrated growling, but Paula thumps to the floor, and her voice is muffled by her hands covering her face.

“I don’t--” she stutters, sounding very confused and very despairing. “I don’t--what? How can I--how am I supposed to…? Maxie, I--”

“I know,” Maxine responds, and they don’t kiss, they just sit there and hug and cry and you feel wrong all over again. This is you they’re crying over. This is you they’re going to miss. It doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t click in your head.

Simon comes at one point, running a hand over your head and whispering quietly, “You lucky bastard. Wait for me, okay?”

You wish you could bring him with you. Whatever hell you both are headed towards, at least there’ll be some peace. You hope so. For his sake. He’s so tired. And it’s so odd that he’d worked so hard for this immortality--you will never be able to understand  why-- and you, you’ve been trying to sleep for years now, before zombs hit the fan. You’re both so different, but this one thing, this desire for the world to just  stop,  for just a second, is what bonds you tight enough to forgive his reckless and idiot choices in life. Because you care about him, damn it. That shouldn’t be as stressful as it feels.

And Janine. Janine, who comes in once, just once more, and takes your free hand and wraps your fingers around the handle of your ax. Its a reassuring and familiar weight, even though touching it immediately brings back Moonchild, reminding you  “you’ve got your ax…”  like it would be the easiest thing to lift it and bring it down across Sam Yao’s neck. You don’t want it, not really, but it’s the one thing Janine ever gave you.

“Give them hell,” she says simply, and then she leaves. And it’s all very final, to be honest, like they’re all trying to prepare and yet nobody’s ready. Least of all you. Well. Second to least of all you.

Because Sam. Sam who won’t let go. Sam who believes with all his heart. Sam who’s losing hope but clings to you, touches you, reminds you if there’s anything worth staying for it’d definitely be him. And you don’t want to leave but you don’t want to stay. You don’t want to stay. You don’t…

You don’t. You don’t want to leave him. You would never leave him. 

It’s time. You entertain the thought that if you had a choice, you’d choose to stay. And you’re kind of relieved that you don’t. But this is what you wanted. Even if you weren’t in the right mind, this is what you chose, and this is the price you have to pay. Peace is only good for you--this will go on forever for them. How very strange. It feels… it feels kind of selfish. How are you ever supposed to be okay with this?

Everything is silent when you open your eyes. It’s too damn bright. There’s morning sun flitting in through the window, and you can see the dust floating lazily through the air in front of you. You turn your head, and there’s Sam, slumped over, black hair messier than usual. His glasses sit on the bed beside him. His hand is, as always, wrapped around yours.

You squeeze it. Your grip isn’t all that strong, especially after days of inactivity, but he stirs immediately. His eyelids flutter and open, dark irises directed at your clasped hands. They widen and he glances up with large eyes, especially for him, and you smile at him.

"Five," he breathes, and these tears are happy tears of giddy relief. “God, I knew it, I  knew  it!”

Breathing is slow and even and you hate to kill this moment like you have to, but you’re leaving. You’re leaving.

You take your hand from his grasp and place it alongside his cheek, brows furrowing, smiling still. It’s a thank you, and an apology, and a declaration of love, all without words, all in that one expression. And Sam’s smile sort of fades, because he understands, he reads it so well because that’s the way he’s always been, reading your face better than anyone you’ve ever met. He blinks, and tears are still falling but they’re different kinds now.

And then he nods. He lets you go. And that’s all you needed from him, that’s all you ever needed, because of everyone in your life he’s the one who has to be okay, who will survive without you, and thrive without you, and love without you, and live without you. He is the most important thing. And you know he’ll be all right. He’ll find another Runner Five--maybe a different runner, maybe someone he already knows. But he’ll be okay. He’ll be fine.

Your smile is genuine and soft and kind as you direct your gaze to the ceiling. You close your eyes. This is what you wanted. This is what you want.

And maybe you’ll stay a while, who knows? You and Moonchild have unfinished business. But for now, you’re being filled without something warm, and everything is slow and heavy, like that feeling you get right before you fall asleep. You’re not coming back from this. And you’re okay with that. Life will go on without you. It always did.

The light behind your eyelids dim. You send out one more apology to Sam, to Abel, to your family and friends. 

** Then,  finally…  peace.   
**


	7. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Done! Thanks to all y'all who've read and enjoyed!

“Hello, Five.”

You come into existence again, but you don’t really mind. Your eyes open and you see Sara, smiling at you and brushing her hand across your cheek. You return the smile, sweet, genuine, happy in an almost giddy way.

“Welcome to the party,” she says dryly.

“Glad to be here.” And God, you can talk. You can speak. After so long of not saying anything, not giving people the closure they need because they were grieving, and for other things too. It feels like you haven’t heard your own voice in so long, but it isn’t rough from misuse. It’s your damn voice. It’s yours.

You turn your eyes from her to the woods you’re in. It’s veiled in white fog, a mist that smells like that second right after it stops raining and you inhale the petrichor tinged with evergreens, cold enough to be refreshing and running a light shiver down your spine. You know that’s not real, couldn’t be, because you’ve gotten used to the stench of death, blood, and rotting corpses and this is something the reminds you of home and when you’re about to head to the bus stop to go to school and you remember the comforting weight of a backpack on your shoulders and a beanie and a scarf and you’re getting so lost in this violent flashback that when Sara speaks again it shocks you out of the memory.

“There you go,” she says, encouraging, almost proud. “It’s good to see you, Five. Or do you want me to call you by your real name?”

“Five’s fine,” you say hurriedly, because you aren’t nearly ready to face that monster yet.

Sara nods. “Of course, I would much rather prefer our reunion to be further down in the future.”

“Sorry.”

She helps you stand, and the fog clears a bit to see you in the Forest of Fallen Runners. Sam and Janine are the only ones still standing in front of a cross that marks your grave. There are flowers, actual flowers, decorated on the ground in front of it, and you knew you were going to be missed, you knew that, and it’s still a shock somehow.

“He hasn’t moved in twenty minutes,” Sara whispers next to you. “Janine is trying to convince him to go get some rest, but I think he’s in shock. Let’s listen in, shall we?”

You’re not entirely sure you want to, but the conversation sharpens are you approach.

“No more Runner Fives,” Sam is saying fiercely, and God, he’s choking on tears. “No more, Janine.”

“All right.” Janine’s left hand flutters a bit like she wants to place it on Sam’s shoulder but isn’t quite sure how.

Sam breathes. It’s very… it’s just harsh, and his voice is hoarse, and you’re not sure if it’s just from crying or breathing as hard as he is. It’s been, you don’t even know, how many days and his eyes are red and have dark, dark bruises under them and he’s not even wearing his glasses at the moment because the tear tracks on his cheeks haven’t dried yet. And he’s so angry right now, he’s so tired, so you reach out and you try to brush his messy hair back and he--he _flinches._

“Go ahead,” Sara whispers to you. “I’m sure you both need the closure.”

You have no idea what that means. Sam is your anchor. You’re not anything, not really, just a tool that works very, very well up until it doesn’t, and through someone else’s hand you hurt so many people, destroyed so many things, took life away without a second thought. And he still loves you. It doesn’t make sense. But then again, neither does love. You probably know that better than anyone.

Janine finally does put the hand on his shoulder. “You need to come back to town soon,” she says, trying to soften her curt tone into something relatable, sympathetic maybe. Ah, she’s always been that way. You know there’s emotion behind her authoritative demeanor. You’ve seen it. You’re not sure if it’s hidden by choice or habit, necessity or subconsciously. It’s there though. "We need you, Mr. Yao."

“Yeah,” Sam answers. He hasn’t taken his gaze off of your cross. You’re not even all that religious. “Yeah, okay.”

Janine exhales quietly in relief. She moves her hand from his shoulder to his elbow and gently tugs him away. You let your fingers slide from his hair to his shoulder, down his arm and to his palm. Your hands grasp for a second, even as he’s pulling away, and your fingertips tingle as you let him go. He makes it to the edge of the woods then, about to turn back onto the trail, before he lingers, pulls Janine to a stop. And he looks over his shoulder and right at you. Right at your face, meeting your gaze with wide eyes, confused, in some sort of wonder, some sort of awe, and it’s almost like he sees you.

Then his eyes drift to somewhere over your shoulder. He’s looking right through you. And the expression drops, replaced by something very sad but very… an almost quiet, some sort of peace, exhaustion in a sleepy way, not in depression. So maybe it’ll take a few nudges. Maybe you’ll be to Sam what Sara is to you. You look over at her, and her smile is a bit sad, too.

“Go on,” she says, nodding towards him. “I’ll wait for you.”

You don’t have to be told twice. Sara kisses you on the forehead and then you’re gone, you follow Sam and Janine through the woods and back to Abel, the one true home you’ve ever had, the family you made all your own, and Sam Yao, your best friend, your soulmate, your anchor.

Because you’re okay now. You’re happy now. And you have a responsibility to your friends and family that you want to fulfill, that you don’t feel forced into doing. Because Sam will be okay without you but you want to be there to see it happen. Because Moonchild will never, ever hurt another person close to you so long as you can help it.

Because you’re happy now. And, to the best of your ability, you’re going to make everybody else happy too.


End file.
